My legs may not walk as they should, and my eyes may not see, my ears may not hear as they should, and my mouth may not speak, my nose may not breathe as it should, and my arms may not reach, but I am not flawed, and certainly not disabled, I am differently-abled, earth angel on a special mission to create, heal and inspire,
and whether you know it or not,
or love and understand me, what a beauty that is!
🌻 Accessibility/convenience and the portrayal of differently-abled persons in the media, especially in movies, must be looked into in Nigeria. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to see an actor play the role of a person with cerebral palsy if there are people with the condition who are looking to perform but have never been given a chance. I will personally rubbish your movie on any platform that I get a chance to. Fight me.
From the classrooms to the stores to the public vehicles, the structures that are in place are rather poor, most of the people are terribly insensitive, and the environment is rather hostile to differently-abled persons. This goes for several other African and Asian countries too.
How can a yang be a yin? How? How can a thing that ought to heal, hurt? How can a thing that ought to help you walk, and better still, give you wings, keep you in chains, and make you weak? How? How can a thing that ought to give you life take your breath? How can a feeling be the opposite of itself, when unrequited? A thing so sweet and tender, like a newborn baby, but strong enough to put you in a chokehold when you least expect it?
The only regret that I have is having regrets- regretting things that I had not even attempted yet, hating myself for making mistakes, for not being able to change the things that I couldn’t, thinking that things end because they should never have been, killing myself for wanting to live.
If you truly love a butterfly, you ought to let her fly. She’ll show you her buttery side if you do. If you open your palm wide enough, she’ll always perch in it if she wants you. Don’t break her wings off because your fears make you want to. If you squeeze her in, you would either weaken her or make her cry, or make her die, and at any chance she gets to be free, she’ll fly far away and never come back again.
Dear Love, why don’t you love me? Why do you like to punish me? You possess and drain my strength, but you let the other go scot-free. When I am in you and when I am not, when you are in me and when you are not, I am always lonely.
We strive to touch the stars; we reach for them. We crave to hold them in our palms but we often forget that stars have sharp ends.
When we get pinched, we doubt that what we have is a star. “This can’t be it; this can’t be all I’ve dreamed of.”
So, we release it; we let it go. We begin to confuse ourselves.
We tell ourselves that a moon can make a better star because it doesn’t look like it has sharp ends, but the moon usually ends up being either too big for us to carry when it is full, or sharper than the star when it has proper blades- when it is a half-moon or a crescent.
When we get hurt again, when reality sets in once more, we move to the sun. We say- “the sun looks more stable; it’s far better than the rest”, but we usually get burned instead.
We return to the star in a worse condition than we would have been if we had been patient, if we had stayed with it, but it may or may not let us hold it in our palms again. It may or may not take us back.
So has it been with many things; so has it been with love.
He never expressed it; he imprisoned the love he had for me. Sometimes, it would try to escape through his mouth, but he would swallow it again. At other times, it would try to escape through his hands, but he would pull them back. After a while, he could not hide it from his eyes; I could see the love in his eyes. He would shut them tight and look away, and when he looked back at me, I would see the imprisoned love again- begging for freedom, asking for help, screaming my name…